


Grok

by Pandasushiroll



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: How Do I Tag, M/M, Multiple Sex Positions, Sexy Times, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 20:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3460280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandasushiroll/pseuds/Pandasushiroll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felix has a thorough and intuitive understanding of Peter Pan. Or at least he thinks he does...until Peter throws a curve ball. They tend to sort things out through sex, but Peter seems to be having other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grok

**Author's Note:**

> So this is something I just finished writing and I'm pretty happy with the way it turned out but I'm still really curious about how it reads. It's style is a little bit different, but its essentially the same as everything else I've written. Just to warn you now this is like 98% of Peter and Felix having sex. It's slow and drawn out. It's not supposed to feel like it's happening in real time. And lots of internal worship on Felix's end so. If that bothers you, you have been officially warned. And just as another heads up Felix is from Sweden--which gets mentioned like once I think? But anyway, I've chosen to rewrite his backstory since he doesn't really have one. It doesn't get mentioned like at all here, but I didn't want anyone to get confused or think it was a typo or something. My version of Felix is big and tall and blonde and Swedish. Anyway enjoy and please let me know what you think!

Peter’s eyes were summer green, frequently filled with an everlasting mirth that flowed from him, wafting off him in waves that silently crept their way into a person’s system. Felix had always known about the phenomenon. He had seen that mirth wind its way into boy after boy, chirking up their sad sodden little existences. Before Peter they were nothing; blank; empty; off white pages (because none of them were truly pure) with no writing. No plot or character within their pages. They didn’t come into existence until those summery eyes with their playful cheer, and seemingly gentle glint fell on them.

There was always a boisterous laugh or a hearty chuckle—some form of melodious joy Peter couldn’t contain at the sight of a new Lost Boy. He laughed because he was happy—because he was _overjoyed_ and because his happiness was so vast and vivid that the English language couldn’t possibly contain all of the sharp contours and bright colors of Peter’s emotions. And sometimes because Felix felt overstimulated and intoxicated off of the addictive high that was Peter’s joy, his happiness, his laugh…Felix laughed too.

The only sound that gave him more pleasure than Peter’s laugh was the sound Peter made when he came.

It was, in a word: sweet.

In several: a blissful; beautiful, gorgeous, pleased sound that left Felix’s fingertips tingling. It was something like watching the sunrise or like watching the moon become full. Peter’s eyes always sparkled and twinkled like the stars laid out across the midnight sky.

.

His body was a healthy, warm glow of peachy skin stretched out across the soft fur of a bear skin. Peter’s chest rose and fell, and he laughed that delightful, uncontainable, little laugh of his. Dirty blonde curls lay plastered to his forehead, weighed down by the soak of sweat. It gave his body an appealing sheen, highlighting the tones of his body as Felix pressed two fingers into the suffocating heat of his body.

Peter tsked at the boy, raking a hand down Felix’s front. He nudged a few blunt nails into the skin of his chest, nicking a fleshy nub on the way down. Felix hummed happily. The curl of Peter’s nails was something like having an undesired layer torn off. Felix often found it refreshing, and tonight was no exception. While Peter scratched off the first layer of the night, Felix crooked his fingers, feeling for that slippery hub of nerves within the scorching heat. He found it easily (likely a result of much practice), spidery digits prodding and rubbing the sensitive nub, spiking an immediate arousal within the other boy.

Felix watched with a deep sense of satisfaction as Peter’s prick leapt from half hard to fully erect with an expertly aimed jab. Peter arched off their bed; expression open and glorious. His mouth fell open, lips curving around a needy hum in the back of his throat. The sound was followed by a wide grin. Felix loved that grin. It made Peter’s mouth look its most appealing. He lived for those grins. They reminded him that he was alive—that he lived just to see Peter smile, that he was born for him.

And now the boy was clenching around him so greedily that Felix felt his sanity rapidly leaking out of him with the sweat that had started to gather between his shoulder blades. Soon it was too much. He couldn’t stand teasing the other boy any longer—because he was only serving to tease himself. A disappointed noise drifted out breathily from Peter’s lips when the long fingers withdrew from him. But he wasn’t left whining for long. His face clouded over with that legendary confidence, as if he had always known things would end up this way. He snickered, and Felix couldn’t let the expression pass. His fingers fit over the other boy’s hips firmly and Peter’s eyebrow rose curiously. He opened his mouth to speak, presumably to taunt or encourage, but before he could enchant Felix with that charming accent of his, he was flipped over. Abruptly flopped onto his stomach with a surprised huff.

“Felix!” He cried in surprise, scandalized by the tall boy’s brazen behavior. Felix was not normally so… _assertive_. He only moved when Peter bade him to, and that was the way things had been for years. But now with the recent addition of sex and encouragement, his tall Swedish Lost Boy had gone and grown a backbone.

“So assertive,” Peter teased, purposely shifting back against the boy behind him as Felix shuffled about, moving to sit on his knees with a firm hand on his own prick. Felix grew impatient as Peter continued his senseless torture of half-heartedly rubbing back against him, spine arched alluringly. He used his free hand to still the other boy’s moving hips, fingers curling tightly around the slim bone of Peter’s hip.

There was a soft chuckle. Peter was clearly amused by his own Lost Boy’s impatience. But his amusement was short lived as Felix once again took the initiative and thrust once, fully seating himself in the first movement. Peter’s mouth fell open again, fingers fisting in the silken skins beneath him as he was filled to the brim with hard heat. They echoed each other’s pleased sounds, the room filling with sympathetic groans and pants—the sound of practiced sex filling in the gaps between their bodies. Caught somewhere between comfort and need, Peter shifted, trying to get movement out of the still boy behind him. But Felix remained firm, fingers all folded over the boy’s hips, nearly bruising in their tight grip. He waited, to Peter’s disdain—patience was not the boy’s virtue either—though he was plenty capable of wielding it when he needed to.

Peter often found patience boring and waste of time. He preferred living in the moment, consumed in the energy of the present and caught in the middle of each impulse as it fell over him. Felix found it just as fascinating as it was frustrating. As impressive as the frequent impromptu behavior was, it was just as annoying in equal parts, since it was Felix who was left to clean up the mess in the aftermath of Pan. It was possibly the only consequence to being the other boy’s right hand.

Beneath him the boy keened, voice pitching up into the realm of needy, before plummeting back down into the firm territory of demanding. “Felix…”

Hips rolling forward, Felix leaned into the thrust, leaning forward until his chest sloped over Peter’s back. It was warm and familiar, he began moving as the comfortable familiarity fell over him.

Felix was slow to find a pace in thrusts. While his hands could fly over a dick at nearly inhuman speeds, his hips preferred the slow build-up of water bursting forth from a dam, slowly trickling out as the foundation cracked and split apart, letting the water pour out in loud thick rivulets that went splattering onto the earth outside. A result of pressure long built up, pressure that couldn’t be contained any longer. And as the liquid poured forth, roaring with the success of freedom—with the sense of release, the rate at which the water flowed grew and grew until the powerful rivulets began to thin, growing softer and gentler as the reservoir ran dry. This is how Felix moved. Free and ever part of nature and yet exclusively his own existence. An existence that Peter had long ago swept up and kept close to the chest, hidden away from the rest of the world like some secret precious gem.

Felix’s fingers now occupied another area of skin, slipping around thin hips until they gripped the very excited flesh of the other boy’s prick. Peter was a chorus of delight below him, humming and moaning into the thrusts as they began to find their steady pace. It was a constant rhythm on one end, and a quickening inhuman pace fisting around his prick in a sweltering heat on the other.

Felix began coming undone when the litany of his name starting falling from Peter’s lips in a string of praises. It was something like; “yes, Felix, yes, good, Felix, yes” on loop. Moments like these did funny things to Felix’s ability to function outside of the existence of Peter Pan. He was an addict. Addicted to the sounds and sights. Addicted to the ultimate experience that was being wholly wrapped up and consumed in Peter Pan. Felix was certain, on every level, on every plane of his conscious being that he loved this boy. More than anything else in the entire universe.

His mouth pressed under the heap of curls at the nape of Peter’s neck, while their bodies moved like two forces colliding over and over again. The sounds of skin slapping skin filled the high ceiling of their room, tree roots oddly acoustic and nurturing to the sound of two bodies forcibly trying to become one.

Felix’s noises for the most part were echoes, shadows of the noises Peter made, but eventually as the pace they took grew unsteady and uncalculated, when Felix began panting harshly against the back of Peter’s neck because it was all he could afford to do—they knew the end was near. But Peter wouldn’t be contained to just one position of bliss. He shifted suddenly, in a movement Felix hadn’t been expecting.

The tall boy was left reeling as the boy beneath him started to struggle, shrugging off the larger body to crawl out from under him. Felix was forced to pull out, a dazed mix of arousal and concern.

Peter was quick and nimble, as always, propping himself up on his haunches, he turned toward Felix, with this clever little grin on his face. The tall boy blinked at him, rendered stupid by the heat coursing through his veins and pooling in his groin. Peter sat before him, grinning, waiting for the other boy to catch on. But the arousal made it difficult to process anything outside of thrusting and sex—in the same way that it made Peter impatient. They had gotten too settled into a rhythm for Peter to be throwing curve balls so suddenly. Felix’s brain was slow to keep up with the bounding energy of Peter Pan, a boy who was so volatile and adaptable that he often left everyone else in the dust.

“You get it?” He said giddily, excited by some epiphany. He crawled forward as Felix remained dumbfounded.

“...get…what?”

Peter rolled his eyes, exasperated as he pressed a hand to the wide skinny plane of Felix’s chest. It was warm palm on warm skin, pressing forward and urging the large body backward. Peter pushed him to lay flat, moving to straddle his hips, with his mouth hovering just an inch above the tall boy’s.

Felix exhaled, the idea finally sinking in, hitting him with the weight of a boulder. Peter had wanted a change in position. Peter saw the wheels turning in his lover’s head, clearly amused by the delay as he pressed a kiss to the boy’s mouth. “There it is. I knew you were a clever boy.”

As usual, Felix caved around him. Peter slid himself back down, setting them back on track. His knees bracketed Felix’s hips, and his hands were solid as they pressed against the thin body beneath to keep himself upright. Peter was always one for living in the moment, enjoying every second to its fullest potential. He wouldn’t settle for less than the absolute best. Felix watched in reverent awe as the boy above him sank down, head tipping back in the satisfaction of it all. The tall boy waited with baited breath, watching for any sign that Peter wanted something more from him, an unspoken action or silent command for a movement or a caress. But he couldn’t glean anything from the way that Peter had his head nearly pressed to his spine—back arched to a feline degree.

Somewhere along the way Felix heard the word “fuck” fall from the other boy’s lips as he rose at an agonizingly slow speed. Both boys gasped in unison, still stunned by the almost novel sense of pleasure they both took in each other’s bodies. Felix couldn’t restrain from reaching, ruining the untouched glory of Peter Pan. (But he wasn’t untouched, he wasn’t pure, as he would have most people believe. He was tainted, influenced by the world around him whether he wanted to be or not. Felix had in effect, unintentionally marred him forever by these intimate actions. Though they were always reverent and loving, Peter Pan would never be the same. The name would never hold the same meaning as before.)

With Felix’s hands tickling his sides, Peter was unable to maintain the slow patience that he feigned to have. The boy began lifting himself up higher than necessary, pulling himself up just to the head, before abruptly impaling himself on the heat of Felix’s prick. He changed heights every now and then, expertly bouncing up and down at different angles and speeds. Felix felt paralyzed by the resulting pleasure, his grip on Peter so tight it was as if he were afraid he would sink through the floor, through the dirt and grime and crust of the earth until he hit the core.

Some inhuman noise rumbled out of Felix as the other boy curled above him in the face of his own prowess. Hitting his own sweet spots was a skill Peter had acquired in the recent development of their sex life, and he was getting no less addicted to the act of shifting himself around until he could make Felix hit the right area.

They fell into a conversation of warbles, moans, and groans then, though Peter managed to retain some intelligence as profanities spilled from his lips. He pitched forward, mouth falling onto Felix’s as his nails curled into the skin of the boy’s chest, marking him in frantically passionate scratches. As the movement of lifting himself up and down became more difficult with the weight of pressure building in his groin, Peter clung to the boy beneath him, nails digging in just as tightly as Felix’s fingers dug into his hips. Peter was anchored, kept grounded to the earth by the force of Felix’s desperate clutch alone. The heat was vast and consuming, nearly suffocating in its intensity as it wrung cry after cry from their bodies, pressure mounting as their muscles became taut, bodies tensing under the threat of pleasure.

Peter was rendered useless, captured in the midst of white hot pleasure. His face fell into the crook of Felix’s neck as his entire body became all too hot. It hindered him, paralyzing him, and energizing him all at once. While his body went stock still as a result, Felix kept moving, thrusting so hard that he repeatedly propelled Peter forward every time the front curve of Felix’s hips collided with the supple swell of the boy’s ass. Then, blissfully, Felix hit him in the direct center of the core of his pleasure. Peter arched before he could register the movement, holding the curved position for thirty seconds before his spine straightened out.

Drunk off the pleasure of teetering on the edge, Peter could do nothing but grin and pant in between the forceful delight of Felix’s thrusts, which only grew in speed. They grew, and grew, and grew until a flash of pure white joy blinded them both. Felix’s hips stuttered as his prick emptied itself into the warm body above him. Peter would have felt the bruises forming on his hips if he hadn’t been overwhelmed by the sensation of completion. It took him a few minutes to realize the fact that Felix had made him come without actually having to touch him. And he had been so busy carving up Felix’s chest that he hadn’t bothered to touch himself either.

Peter wondered at this observation, as he laid his cheek in the dip of Felix’s shoulder, panting short little puffs of hot air onto the skin there. “Felix…”

“Mmm…?” The tall boy was rendered to a panting groaning mess, without words or intelligible noises. Neither had made a move to pull Felix’s prick out, so both could feel the come leaking from the tight space within him, leaking out into the "V" of Felix’s hips. It was a slow soothing sensation. Felix sighed, resigned to the fact that he couldn’t live without Peter even if he wanted to, because he was much too invested in moments like this.

“Do you love me?”

The question hung in the small space between them, heavy and much too horridly mature for either’s liking. But Peter waited, exhibiting patience as he watched the wheel’s turn in Felix’s head again. His hands splayed over the wide expanse of the other boy’s chest as it rose and fell, pushing air in and out of tall lungs. Peter traced the length of a collarbone as Felix thought. After a few minutes of silence it became too much.

“…it’s fine if you don’t you know.” He said suddenly, feeling uncharacteristically exposed and vulnerable. He hadn’t thought Felix’s rejection would bother him this much. Well, to be honest, he hadn't thought Felix ever _would_ reject him. He had always been under the impression Felix would give to him constantly, and he hadn't considered for a single moment the idea that Felix might not be completely _his._  Why did he feel so bothered? When had he become so dependent on the other boy? When had it become so important for Felix to approve, and to be impressed and to be accepting?

Peter slowly lifted himself up, gingerly reaching to pull the spent length of Felix from his body. Afterward he sighed, nearly shivering at the feel of the rest of the come leaking from him. Felix took this pause in movement to reach for Peter’s face, fingers curling under the boy’s chin to pull his face toward his. He pulled until their eyes met. Peter blinked, steeling himself in the face of that which made him extremely uncomfortable.

“Forever and a quarter.” He said simply, as if that explained everything.

And for once Peter wondered if this is what he must have sounded like when he randomly said things without context. His forehead creased as he wrapped a hand around Felix’s wrist. “What?”

“That’s how long I’ll stay with you.” Felix pulled him down before Peter could protest (not that he really wanted to), sealing their lips together as if he were sealing a deal.

Peter frowned against the other boy’s mouth, leaning back to speak again. “That’s how long you’ll stay? You don’t get to make declarations like that, Felix.”

Felix looked amused, and Peter couldn’t fathom how on earth he could manage looking so smug when they were both clearly exhausted. “Oh really?”

“Yeah. Really.” Peter said as he shifted off of the large body in a huff, easing himself to nestle in beside Felix.

Felix for his part looked way more relaxed than he should have, sex had made him cocky. And Peter didn’t quite understand how this translated. “If you say so.”

It didn’t dawn on Peter until nearly ten minutes later that Felix had promised to stay with him for longer than forever. Felix had just finished cleaning him off, running a washcloth down the lower half of his torso when the realization hit him. And he had been so overwhelmed with the joy of this revelation that all of Felix’s effort to clean him up had gone to waste.


End file.
